I can’t stop the thoughts. My mind keeps reeling through different scenarios, picturing that cold metal table she will be lying on as they shave the fur from the base of her spine down to her ankle and then make the incision in her skin. While she lies there, her breathing labored, her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth. I keep imagining things that could happen. The surgeon slipping on the floor and accidentally cutting my girl in some random place on her body, blood pouring out of her. I keep thinking that the anesthetic is going to be too strong in her heart is going to stop. And never start again, ever. I just keep visualizing her lifeless body there on that metal table in that strange room, Without me there to comfort her. The thoughts. I just can’t stop these thoughts.
The feeling in the pit of my stomach is sour. Awful. If they call me with bad news and I answer my phone to hear your voice on the other end telling me that my baby girl did not pull through this surgery, I’m pretty convinced that it will be the end of me.